


Clear the Air

by Rina_san28



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancer Grantaire, Fluff, Injury, M/M, Mdm H is such a mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rina_san28/pseuds/Rina_san28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is really feeling the burn after dance and figures that getting to the Musain a little earlier than normal can't hurt, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear the Air

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I'm finding that writing on a laptop is a trillion times easier than writing on my iPod, so stories will probably be coming a bit more frequently. Yay!
> 
> This is kind of based off of one of the headcanons in the dancer!Grantaire post I made a couple days ago. You can find it [here](http://rina-san28.tumblr.com/post/149140072458/i-see-a-lot-of-headcanons-about-grantaire-being). Happy reading!

Grantaire groaned as he sat down in the still-empty back room of the Musain. He usually went home between his Thursday evening dance class and the meeting, but after today’s lesson he didn’t really feel like moving any more than was strictly necessary. 

“Grantaire, dear?” He looked up to see Madame Houcheloup leaning in the doorway, a slightly concerned expression on her face.

“Good afternoon,” he said, trying to sound less tired than he actually was, but failing. “How are things today with my favorite café owner?”

She didn’t seem too impressed. “What did you do this time?”

“I did nothing!” Grantaire insisted, swinging his legs off of the chair he’d propped them up on. He winced when they hit the ground. “Well, not nothing, exactly. Maybe a little too much.”

“Do you need ice?” Madame asked. “I can put some in a bag.”

“That would be nice.” He smiled sheepishly at her. “Thank you.” She sent him another look before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Grantaire let out a sigh and slowly bent down to reach for his dance bag. Had he put the tape back in the outer pocket? He unzipped it partway and dug through it, letting out a shout of triumph when his hand closed around a roll, which he pulled out and dropped onto the table. Another round of digging produced a bottle of painkillers.

“Here we go,” Madame Houcheloup said as she re-entered the room, cradling four ziplocs of ice in her arms. “Your usual.” She dropped them on the table next to his own supplies and pulled a bottle of water out of her apron, holding it out and fixing him with a stern glare. “Drink the whole bottle and don’t you dare try and pay. If you do, shin splints will be the least of your problems.” Grantaire laughed, nodding, and took the water bottle. The smile he received in return was worth it, as well as the motherly kiss on the forehead. She turned and walked away, pausing near the doorway to waggle a finger at him before leaving the room and pulling the door mostly shut behind her. 

Still chucking, Grantaire downed a couple of pain pills, then put his right leg back on the chair next to him and rolled the leg of his sweatpants up to above his knee. He stretched his leg out fully, hissing slightly as the overused muscles pulled, and carefully balanced two ice packs on his shin. Once he was certain they would stay, he grabbed the tape and wrapped it around his leg and shin, grimacing slightly as the ice in the bags shifted around. The second bag tried to make a break for it when he reached it with the tape and he cursed, calling it all sorts of rude things as he began to ruthlessly stick it place. He made a mental note to pick up more tape on his way home - if his legs didn’t heal up soon, he was going to be going through a lot of the stuff in the coming weeks.

Just as he finished putting the last vertical “security strip” on his leg, the door swung open to reveal Enjolras, who had his typical messenger bag and coffee mug, but also had a cardboard box tucked under his arm that looked as if it would disintegrate if the wind blew it too hard. 

Enjolras’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he noticed Grantaire sitting there. “You’re early,” he said.

“Good to see you, too, Apollo,” Grantaire replied, letting out a grunt as he switched legs, the ache in his muscles not yet faded. “Although I must point out that you are _also_ early.”

“I’m always here early.” Enjolras set the box down on a table, not looking away from Grantaire. He supposed that he did make a rather strange sight, sporting a loose old studio t-shirt, rolled up sweatpants, and bright green tape on one leg. 

“Congratulations,” Grantaire said. He waved the roll of tape at other man. “Go on, set up. I won’t cause any trouble.” He took another swig from the water bottle and started balancing the remaining bags of ice on his left shin.

Enjolras, however, did not appear to be content with the dismissal. “What are you doing?”

“Damage control.” He couldn’t quite get the lower bag to stay and cursed quietly when it fell to floor. With a sigh, he set down the tape and braced himself against the table, but before he could bend down, Enjolras was holding the bag out to him. Grantaire shot him a quick smile and took it. “Thanks.”

Instead of walking back over to his things, Enjolras perched on the table next to Grantaire, watching as he began to tape the packs to his leg. The two sat in silence for a moment before Enjolras spoke up again. “What do you mean by damage control?”

“You’re full of questions today,” Grantaire said, but answered anyway. “Dance was rough today. I usually wait to do this, but…” He shrugged. “Didn’t really feel like doing too much walking.”

He looked up and was surprised to see that Enjolras looked a little embarrassed. “I forgot that you danced.”

Grantaire shrugged again. “S’okay,” he said. “I don’t really talk about it that much. Doesn’t really match the subject of the meetings.”

“I feel bad, though,” Enjolras insisted. His face was pinched in a frown. Grantaire was a little surprised to see that he was genuinely upset. “I know things about everybody else, their hobbies and everything, but-”

“We’re usually arguing anyway.” Grantaire tore the tape, finished with his bandaging, and stood cautiously. He gave each of his legs a little shape to test the binding, then sat back down, satisfied.

“That’s no excuse!” Enjolras bent down to retrieve Grantaire’s bag as soon as he reached for it, and Grantaire gave him a brief nod of gratitude. 

“We’re actually arguing right now.” It was rather amusing to see Enjolras’s mouth snap shut.

“I’m sorry.”

“Never thought I’d ever hear those words directed at me.”

“I’ve been a real dick to you in meetings,” Enjolras plowed on, “and you really don’t deserve the things I’ve said to you.”

“I come in, drink, and rip all of your speeches to pieces,” Grantaire pointed out. “I’d say you’re giving as good as you got.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said again, and Grantaire rolled his eyes before reaching out and taking his hand. He swallowed slightly, internally cursing his massive crush on the man in front of him, and met Enjolras’s eyes.

“You really, really don’t need to apologize. I don’t blame you for anything. If anything _I_ should be apologizing to _you_.” Enjolras shook his head, but Grantaire continued anyway. “Besides, you have a really great thing going here. It’s my own fault that I can’t get on board with it.”

“I yell at you for things you say that help me in the end,” Enjolras said. “Because of your arguments, I can make mine bulletproof.”

“Really?” Grantaire’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. 

“Yep,” Enjolras said, nodding. “Combeferre said so as well. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, but you haven’t been staying after like you usually do.”

“I was subbing a class of baby ballet,” Grantaire said. He was having a hard time wrapping his head around Enjolras’s admission. “If you wanted to talk, Apollo, you could have just called me.”

“I wanted to do it in person.” Enjolras looked hesitant. He glanced down at his watch. “I need to set up but...maybe I could take you to dinner afterwards?” Grantaire was shocked to see the a blush creep up the neck of the fearless leader. 

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “I mean, yeah, that’d be - nice.” Was he interpreting this right? He hoped so. He really, _really_ hoped so.

“Good!” Enjolras smiled at him, and Grantaire almost melted right through his chair. “I’m really...yeah.” The smile turned a little bit dorky, and Enjolras wiggled, looking rather adorable.

Good _Lord,_ he had it bad.

“You never did explain what happened to your legs, by the way.” Clearly, in spite of everything, Enjolras would not be deterred. 

“Shin splints,” Grantaire said, still reeling. “They happen sometimes.”

“That means nothing to me,” Enjolras said, walking back to his box. “What are they?”

“Could be any number of things,” Grantaire said honestly. “Arch collapse, overused muscles, stress fractures. Nothing too serious, really.”

“Fractures sound a bit serious to me.” 

“They can be self-treated. And if anything goes wrong or gets too bad,” he pointed out, “both Joly and Combeferre are a phone call away.” Enjolras hummed, but didn’t try to push it any further. 

They continued to chat comfortably as the rest of the group began to arrive, and Enjolras even shot him a teasing “I-told-you-so” look when Joly began to lecture him about the importance of medical consultation. Still, between the recent conversation fresh in his memory and what he dared to hope was a _date_ just a couple of hours away, Grantaire found that he really couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr! You can find me at [rina-san28](http://rina-san28.tumblr.com/). Drop by and say hello!


End file.
